


we are made from the earth; we return to the earth

by writerforlife



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, buckle up we're going timeline hopping, in the style of groundhog day, with many timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: Philip and Trevor find each other in timeline after timeline in a post-Travelers Version 1 world.





	we are made from the earth; we return to the earth

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I finished Season 3, I KNEW I had to write something. That season was... wild. I was left speechless. Hopefully everyone enjoys this much-longer-than-intended fic :)

**_“Like animals we breathe and die, and we are no better off than they are. It just doesn’t make sense.”_ **

 

_ prologue, one   _

“I like you being here.” 

Trevor looks up from his cereal to see Philip sitting at the computer, hair tied back into a messy knot and coffee mug in hand. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. “What did you say?”

“Come on, I know you can hear.” Philip’s cheeks flush rose pink. “I said that I like you being here. The garage felt… big. Empty.” He shifts in his seat, eyes falling to the floor. “I didn’t like being alone.”

“I didn’t like my parents’ house. Too small.” 

“You think we can hit just right?”

“Somehow, I think we will. Get you exercising, maybe meditating—”

“Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. You look healthy. We need to capitalize on that.”

Philip smirks. “Not doing heroine gives you that glow.” 

An laugh escapes Trevor. A few months ago, it wouldn’t have been funny. But Philip is clean, now. He’s better.  “I suppose it does.”

“I’ll try.” Philip’s features soften, from his eyes to his mouth to his jaw. “Everything’s so good right now. How long do you think this lasts?”

“Phil—”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Philip shudders running his hand through his hair, shaking it from its knot. “It’s just…”

Trevor walks to Philip and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hard to believe it can last.”

“Yeah. That.” 

“Don’t worry.” Trevor makes a promise to himself, right in that moment. “We’ll protect this.”

 

_ parode, one   _

When the situation with Aleksander and MacLaren is settled, Philip sits in the backseat of Carly’s van, refusing to make eye contact with anyone—even Trevor, who’s been staring at him with unflinching eyes. Philip’s body  _ aches.  _ His mouth is still dry. Fog and pain crowds his head. He wants to close his eyes and forget the past two days happened. 

Carly drops him and Trevor at the garage. Philip’s legs wobble as he walks inside and Trevor closes the door, but he isn’t going to say anything, isn’t going to be weak, not after Trevor found him. It was the last thing he wanted. Logically, he knew as he was shooting up, Trevor would find him. Logic, though, paled when confronted with pure terror and desperation. The Director wanted him to kill a  _ child.  _ Clean up his own mistake. 

“Philip? Philip, come on.” 

Trevor’s voice pulls him from his mind.

He realizes he’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. Trevor stands in front of him, brows drawn together. Philip’s head spins. 

“Why don’t you sit?” Trevor asks. 

Philip pitches forward.  _ This is it _ , he thinks. He’s going to hit the floor face-first. 

Trevor catches him. Strong arms hold him upright; he knows Trevor’s saying  _ something  _ as he helps him to the couch, but he can’t quite separate the syllables. All he knows is that he’s suddenly on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Hey, bud.” Trevor crouches next to him. “How are we?”

Philip scrunches his nose up, trying to lessen the ache in his head. “Not good.” 

“That’s what happens when…” Trevor trails off, rubbing his forehead. “You can’t do that to me again.”

“I didn’t mean…” Philip trails off. He can’t finish that sentence. He can’t lie. He did exactly what he meant to do. “I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” Trevor sighs. “Sleep, if you can.”

Philip runs his hand through his greasy hair, feeling the pressure of his headache swell and build. He can’t bring himself to take anything for it. 

“It should’ve been me,” he whispers. “To handle it.”

He meant it for himself, but Trevor turns, pain in his eyes. “You wanted to do something good, and it went wrong. Despite what you think, you can’t know everything. You’re human.”

“And you just know everything, don’t you?” 

“I’ve lived a very long time, Philip.” 

Philip closes his eyes. “The future’s getting darker, and I don’t know what we can do to stop it. We aren’t making the world better.” His voice cracks on the last word. 

Trevor sighs again. “We’re trying. That’s all we can do. You may be a historian, but you’re not prophet.”

He wants to agree. He wants to take solace in these words. 

He can’t.

“You’ll feel better once you sleep.”

Philip makes a non-committal noise, closing his eyes and turning onto his side. Before he drifts off, though, he feels the weight of a blanket settle over his body, and three calloused fingers touched lightly to his forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

_ episodes, one   _

Philip sits next to Trevor on the couch after convincing him that vegetables only needed  _ some  _ spices rather than  _ all _ . Also after being kidnapped, he supposes. As far as kidnappings went, this one could’ve gone worse. The betrayals hurt more than having his comm cut out; with more and more people turning against the Director, this wouldn’t be his last betrayal. 

“What are you thinking?” Trevor asks. 

Philip turns to face him, balancing his plate on his knees. Trevor’s eyes flick to the bandage on his neck. Philip pretends not to notice. “I pretended I would betray the Director.”

“But for a moment, you could imagine doing it.”

He blinks. “How’d you know?”

“Aleksander.” Trevor sighs and puts his empty plate to the side. “You don’t like seeing people die if they don’t have to. It’d make sense that you’d consider going Faction.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You have to let me finish.” Trevor cocks his head to the side, biting his lower lip slightly and studying Philip’s face; under his gaze, Philip split open, all his secrets falling through the fault lines. “But you’re loyal. You’re caring. You’re brave. You have faith. You wouldn’t turn against the Director, and you wouldn’t turn your team.” 

Heat rises to Philip’s cheeks. He finds himself looking at his lap, searching for something clever to say, something that will solidify in Trevor’s mind that he really is all those things. 

“Is your neck okay?” Trevor’s voice falls to a rough-edged whisper that cuts straight through Philip’s chest. 

“I think so,” Philip replies. 

Before Philip can react, Trevor pushes his dirty hair aside and lifts the bandage—not roughly, but not too gently, either—to inspect the wound. “Stitches look good.” He makes a low humming sound, laying the bandage flat over Philip’s neck.  “You’re still worried.”

“I think something bad’s coming,” Philip blurts. “I don’t know anything specifically. But…” He swallows hard. “I’m scared.”

“How bad?” 

A desperate laugh escapes. “Bad.” 

“Okay.” Trevor nods. “We’ll deal with it. I promise.”

Later, Philip finds Trevor frozen, one foot on the ladder rung, the other still on the ground. Completely still. Completely empty. Philip leans his head against the wall, feeling tears well in his eyes, feeling his body cry out in exhaustion. 

“Philip?” Trevor says. 

“I’m fine,” he blurts.

“I did it again.”

Philip forces a tight smile. Trevor blinks at him. Briefly, he wonders what it would be to sleep in the same bed, to kiss him. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Before Trevor can reply, Philip walks toward his computers and settles in for the night. 

 

#

 

Grace leaves eventually.

Trevor wasn’t  _ trying  _ to push her out. But as he’d sat on the couch, her hand in his, he’d only noticed Philip hovering in dark corners, refusing to sit or rest despite being awake for nearly a day and a half. He’d noticed dark circles under his eyes. Exhaustion seeping through his movements. The way he blinked at empty corners. When Grace leaves, it’s natural to go to him, to stand in front of him, to say, “I didn’t mean it.”

Philip fixates on some point over Trevor’s shoulder for a moment, some whisper of another timeline, then sets his jaw and glares at him. “Really? Because you seemed to mean it when you invited the Director to overwrite you.” 

“Philip—”

“You really,  _ really  _ seemed to want it. And you didn’t ask us. You didn’t ask me.” Philip blinks, like he surprised himself; Trevor tries to cut in, but Philip holds up a finger. “What do you think it would’ve been like for me—us? I get through historical updates because I don’t want another traveler to have this body.” He motions at himself. “They’re going to kill me one day, but this is mine for as long as I’m able to keep it.”

A sensation similar to plunging into ice-cold water consumes him. “This isn’t—”

“Right now, this is your face. This is my face. I saw timelines where…” He shakes his head. “I’ve been saying things are going to go wrong for  _ weeks,  _ and you were going to leave. You didn’t even ask.” He begins to pace, hands locked behind his neck; tears linger in his eyes, tears he tries to swipe away. Only then does Trevor notice his trembling hands, his rumpled clothes, the tension corded through him.

“Have you slept?” he whispers.

Philip shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

“I wouldn’t have known.”

“ _ I  _ would’ve.” 

Trevor exhales and pulls Philip to his chest, wrapping his arms around his back. Philip tenses at first, but when Trevor brings a hand to the back of his head, he sobs quietly and leans his face into Trevor’s shoulder. A raw, unexplored feeling rises in his chest, as Philip cries silently into his shirt. He hasn’t felt anything like this since…

He can’t let himself think like that.

Not when everything will likely go to shit soon. 

“Hey.” He curls his hand into the fabric of Philip’s shirt. “How many timelines?”

“Too many. You died in… too many.” Philip pulls away and swipes at his nose. 

“Want to work on that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” Philip lowers his eyes, waving his hand as he stumbles away, thankfully toward his bed. For a moment, Trevor imagines sliding in next to him, folding their bodies together, letting Philip feel  _ safe  _ for a moment. Just a moment. 

He opens his mouth to say something.

By the way Philip looks at him, he knows he blanked out for a few seconds. 

“What were you going to say?” Philip asks, voice deep, weary. 

No. He can’t do that. He can’t give himself over when only a small piece of metal behind his ear is grounding him in reality.

He offers a half-smile. “Good night, Phil.”

 

_ stasimon, one   _

David is dead. 

Timelines spin around Philip. 

He sits on the couch, watching a thousand lifetimes play out before him. They stack higher and higher on the floor, climbing to his neck and seeping into mouth and stunting his breath. 

This world isn’t going to survive. 

“Philip.” Trevor kneels before him. 

He knows some math. He knows how to add. He knows that positive and negative cancel each other out. An averted tragedy for himself, positive one. An averted tragedy for Trevor, positive two. A tragedy for David, minus one. The world must balance to zero.

Meaning another tragedy must come. 

And he doesn’t think he can withstand another one. 

“Phil.” Slowly, Trevor’s hands wrap around Philip’s, hands careful, firm but gentle. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Do you ever think,” he whispers, “that we’ve created this mess.”

Trevor’s hand brushes against Philip’s face once, then falls to his side. “We can fix it.”

Philip clenches his fists. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I promise we’ll try.” 

 

_ exode, one   _

For as old as he is, Trevor never believed he’d see the end of the world. 

Philip sits next to Marcy’s body; Carly talks to Grace, wiping blood from her temple. MacLaren’s body—his lifeless, soulless body—lays beside Carly and Grace, his consciousness traversing decades. Trevor doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t know where he’s needed.

Until Philip collapses into a pool of Marcy’s blood. 

“Phil!” He rushes to him and drags him away, red smearing across the floor. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” Tears fall from Philip’s eyes; Trevor wipes them away and pushes his hair away from his eyes. 

“We couldn’t save her,” Philip says hoarsely.

“I know.”  

“What happens when a timeline is erased? Will we feel it?”

“I don’t know,” Trevor says honestly. 

“I wish I did.” 

“You were never a prophet. Never meant to be.” 

Philip stares at him unflinchingly, blood matted in his hair and smeared over his face; a small trail of red trickles from his nose. More than anything, Trevor wishes he could rebuild this world—for Philip, for Grace, for Marcy and Carly and David and MacLaren. For everyone. 

“Do you think we missed something?” Philip whispers. “With us?”

And Trevor knows what he’s asking. 

“You only have one soulmate. That was my wife.” Trevor swallows hard, taking in the man before him. “But second chances don’t show up every day.” 

“We could’ve…” Philip’s gaze falls to the floor. “We could’ve had more.” 

With a deep breath, Trevor holds Philip’s face with both hands, pressing their foreheads together. “Maybe we’ll get where we’re supposed to be in another life.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that,” Philip says. 

“There has to be a first time for anything.”  _ In any universe.  _ Trevor leans forward and presses his lips to Philip’s. With a gasp, Philip deepens the kiss, bringing his hands to Trevor’s head. He pulls away, breathing hard, and tucks Philip’s hair behind his ear.

“It’s starting,” Philip whispers. “I can feel it.” 

Trevor can, too. His cells tingle, like the threads that stitch his body together are fraying and dissolving in the face of a warped universe. He holds Philip close to him.  _ Don’t look _ , he wants to say. He doesn’t know what an imploding timeline will look like, only that he doesn’t want Philip’s last image before he dies to be something bad. 

“Let’s go outside,” he says. 

So Trevor leads them all outside, Philip and Grace and Carly. He thinks about bombs hitting three different cities, thinks about how blue the sky is, thinks about how he really would’ve liked to take Philip somewhere with a pretty lake and mountains and no computers. Instead of saying any of this, he wraps his arm around Philip’s shoulder. Grace’s mouth falls open, but she says nothing. Perhaps she knew. Carly takes Philip’s hand.

They wait.

They dissolve. 

“In another life,” Trevor whispers when he thinks the timeline is about to end. 

Philip smiles sadly, turning his head into Trevor’s neck. “In another life.”

And just like that, there is nothing. 

They never existed. 

 

_ parode, two   _

“Can’t Trevor and Philip be friends?” Trevor asks.

The question slams against Philip. He actually has to sit. Because he’s heard something like that before, or if he hasn’t, he’s heard something damn similar.  _ Can’t Trevor and Philip be friends?  _ He studies Trevor’s crooked smile, his toned legs, his old yet futuristic eyes, his hands. He has a fighter’s hands, strong and veiny. Philip briefly imagines those hands touching him.

“Yeah,” Philip replies. “I suppose we can.” 

 

_ episode, two   _

“I like seeing you like this,” Trevor says one day when they’re jogging in the park.

Philip blinks. He tucks his hair behind his ear, fingers trembling, and lifts his lips in a half smile. He’s noticed that Trevor’s giving him more compliments, lately, and doesn’t know what to do. “Like what?”

“Healthy.” Trevor stops jogging, glancing above them at the sprawling trees and open skies before turning back to Philip. 

He winces, remembering his greasy hair and bags under his eyes. “Yeah. I looked like a disaster, didn’t die.”

“No, you were still…” Trevor swallows hard. “You were still you. But you were sick. Now, you’re… you glow. I like when you tie your hair back. I like when you shave. I like seeing you exercise and meditate, but I also like seeing you eat candy on the couch.” Trevor rubs the back of his neck, looking at Philip from under his lashes. “Your eyes… you always look so excited to see the world. Even in the future.”

“The protocols,” Philip says. His own voice rings in his ears. 

“I know, I know. Except I saw you back when we were training, and even then…” Trevor leans toward Philip. 

_ Move away _ . 

He leans closer. Their lips are centimeters apart. Philip exhales, shuddering.

“Guys?” The comms crackle.

Trevor curses under his breath and moves apart. “What’s up, boss?” 

“Traveler 001. We have a problem,” MacLaren says. 

“Of course,” Philip says. But Trevor’s already walking away. Philip touches his lips.

The moment’s gone, but it feels like he’s lived it before. 

 

_ exode, two   _

Traveler 001 wins. 

_ He wins.  _

Trevor can’t help but feel he’s lived this moment before, too. 

They’re standing before Ilsa—before MacLaren’s empty body, before Marcy’s corpse, before Grace, bloody and broken, before their failure—when Philip’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Philip!” Trevor rushes forward and catches him before he hits the ground, but Philip’s body jerks and seizes in his arms. Blood drips from his nose, cutting a path over his jaw before falling to the floor, where it mingled with Marcy’s. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Carly shouts.

“Hey, hey, Philip.” Trevor tries to hold him steady, but Philip continues to seize. “Wake up. Please, please wake up.”

Philip’s eyes open.

For a moment, Trevor sighs.

Then, Philip’s breath starts coming in ragged, rattly breaths. “We missed it again,” he says, leaning his head against Trevor’s chest and blinking fast. He finally focuses his gaze on Trevor. “We missed our chance. I keep seeing other timelines. Other versions of us. There’s one…” He grits his teeth and cries out softly, like he didn’t want to bother anyone with his pain. His eyes roll back again. 

Trevor cards his hand through Philip’s hair and holds him to his chest; he looks over Philip’s head at Grace. “What’s happening to him?”

“I think your boy’s broken.” Grace kneels next to them, pressing one hand to Philip’s forehead. “Fever. Probably too many timelines running through his head. Why I never fucked around with historians.”

“Marcy told him to keep taking his pills,” Carly says.

“No drugs,” Philip murmurs.

“No drugs, Phil, no drugs.” Trevor presses his lips to the top of Philip’s head. 

“What does it matter?” Grace throws up her hand. “This timeline’s going to end.”

“But he’s in pain.” Trevor’s hands shake as he touches Philip’s face. “He’s in pain, and the last thing he’s going to know is pain.” He thinks it’s terrible, that pain has touched every part of Philip’s existence in the twenty-first. “I’d take it away from him. I’d freeze forever.”

“Holy shit,” Grace says. “You’re in love with him.” 

Trevor sighs. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Carly’s voice quavers. “He’s in love with you. I see the way he looks at you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”  _ Not now.  _ Trevor lifts Philip, cradling his head against his chest, and walks outside as Grace and Carly follow. 

“Trev?” Philip murmurs. “Where are we going?”

“Outside.” Tears form in his eyes. “You’re going to see the sky, Phil.”

“You need to know…” Philip coughs, blood dribbling over his lips. “In the other timelines… one other timeline…” His eyes flutter closed. His chest stills. 

Trevor gasps, pressing his hands to his forehead. He doesn’t realize he’s saying Philip’s name until Carly drags him away from the body— _ Philip’s _ body—and pulls his hands away.

“This timeline is ending,” she says. “You may get another chance.”

“How?” he asks.

“Think of him.” A half smile comes to her face. “As it ends.” 

So he does.

As their timeline is erased, Trevor keeps a name in his mind.

_ Philip, Philip, Philip.  _

 

_ parode, three   _

A few months into the mission, Philip slides a needle into his arm. He feels broken. Woozy. He feels like he’s made a mistake. Like his body is rebelling. Warmth flows through his blood, like fire and sunlight blending like paints swirled on a canvas. Except the colors turn to gray, the flames turn to ash. 

Slowly, he slips away and doesn’t return. 

 

_ exode, three   _

Trevor never thought Philip could hate anything.

Then he made a deal with the Director, and Philip looked at the Ilsa like the AI was the enemy. Like  _ Trevor  _ had betrayed him by being sick.

“We’ll fix you,” Philip had told him over and over. 

Trevor didn’t have the heart to tell him that there  _ was  _ no fix. 

“I don’t want to see someone else in your body,” he’d also said. “I can’t.”

Trevor can’t talk him out of that one. If one of the historical updates were to kill Philip, he wouldn’t want to see someone else in his body.

He tries not to think of that as his mind starts and stops.

Instead, he thinks there’s a word he needs to remember. A word he thought before, something extremely important. 

It sounds a lot like Philip’s name. 

His thoughts move like clouds, swirling in his mind around some very important word. He needs it. He needs to know what was so important. He thinks someone was dying when he told himself he’d remember it. Perhaps he was. 

“Are you okay?” Philip kneels next to his chair, eyes wide and worried. 

Trevor gets the instinct to run his hands through Philip’s hair. He moves his hand. “I think I want to—”

 

#

 

Philip kneels next to Trevor, whose arm is outstretched. What had he wanted to do?

“He’ll snap out of it soon,” Marcy says. 

So Philip lowers his arm and begins to wait. Minutes pass. Hours. 

Days. 

Trevor doesn’t come back to him. 

 

**_“All living creatures go to the same place. We are made from earth, and we return to earth.”_ **

 

_ prologue, four   _

Philip saved Aleksander.

As he lays in his bed, bullet wound throbbing, he repeats that to himself. He saved someone who was not meant to survive. He could do it again. Theoretically, that is.  _ Actually  _ doing it again could result in something worse than a gunshot. 

The door opens. Philip reaches for the gun he keeps under his pillow, but Trevor raises his hands before Philip can aim.

“Easy, there.” His eyes flick over the gun. “You know how to use that?”

“In theory,” Philip replies. 

“Want to learn?”

“Now?”

“Better than you being in bed. Come on.” 

Trevor leads him out of the garage, then they catch a bus to a park. Philip’s wound throbs, but out here—surrounded by willowy trees striving for the blue sky, flowers and dewy grass around their feet, clean air—it feels less important. They’re deep into the woods before Trevor turns to look at him.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Honestly? Terrible.” His hands shake because of withdrawal. He’s been shot. There are thousands of people he know will die and he can’t do anything. 

“It’ll get better, Philip. I promise.” 

Philip wants to say that no, of course it won’t get better, because people he knows will keep dying and he won’t be able to do anything, but there’s so much sincerity in Trevor’s eyes that he can’t bring himself to disagree. 

“Let’s teach you how to defend yourself.” Trevor begins explaining the basics of using a gun, but Philip’s only half listening (and that’s enough—historian brain and all). A feeling creeps around him, like he’s forgotten something very important but can’t remember. Two shadowy figures swirl in his thoughts, in a forest a lot like this one. They lean closer to each other, black touching black and gray touching gray, with empty space dancing between their lips. 

“Philip?”

“Listening.” He blinks fast and meets Trevor’s concerned eyes. 

Yes. He’s definitely forgotten something. 

 

_ exode, four _

Philip leaves a historical update. His feet must carry him back to the garage—his mind certainly had nothing to do with his. His thoughts mingle and melt until they’re unrecognizable, only a jumbled mass of nothingness. 

He needs to take his pills.

He can’t bring himself to put more drugs in his system. 

He opens the door.

He knows something new. Or old. He wonders if he knew the same thing before. 

“How’d it go?” Trevor calls. 

Philip sinks to his knees, woozy pain swimming in his head. 

“Hey, hey. Philip, look at me.” Strong hands cup his face before Trevor kneels before him and stares into his eyes. Philip’s always liked Trevor’s hands. Always liked Trevor. “Hi. What happened?”

“Knew they would kill me eventually,” Philip murmurs. 

Trevor grimaces and reaches for his comm, but Philip catches his hand. “You need Marcy. The Director—”

“Knows the updates kill historians in the long run. It’s okay. You’ll get a new one. Probably in this body,” His knees give out; he expects to fall to the floor face-first, but Trevor catches him. This, too, feels familiar. “Trevor. Something’s not right. I keep having this feeling like we’ve lived this all before.” 

“How is that possible?” 

“Don’t know.” Dull pain creeps into Philips skull. “But it’s starting.” Like a bomb going off, the pain shatters through him. In the background, Trevor’s screaming—their screams blend together, like the two shadowy figures he’d seen in the park. Perhaps this is how it will always end, with a body or a scream or pain. He’s never seen anyone die happy. 

He is no exception.

 

#

 

Trevor’s left cradling Philip’s body.

Two days later, he’s diagnosed with Early Onset Temporal Aphasia.   
He doesn’t fight it. 

 

_ prologue, five _

“So what’s going on with you and Philip?” MacLaren suddenly asks when he’s driving Trevor back to his parents’ house. 

“What’s going on with you and Carly?” Trevor counters.

“Oh, don’t do that with me.”

“Worth a try, boss.”

MacLaren glances at Trevor before turning his eyes back to the road. “Come on. I see the way you look at him.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like he’s better than the rest of us. And you’re at the garage every other night.” MacLaren stops the car. “The ladies and I talk, you know.”

“I’d like to ask you to stop doing that.” Trevor hops out of the car and ignores whatever MacLaren’s saying, but the idea’s been planted in his head. He activates his comm as MacLaren drives away. “Phil?”

“Present,” Philip replies.

“Do you think we’d make a good couple?”

On the other end, Philip sputters. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Why?”

“Just interested.”  A smile creeps to his face. “Completely unrelated, but do you want to grab coffee tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Philip blurts. Then, he clears his throat and stammers. “I mean, sure. That’d be cool. I think I’m free.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

 

_ episode, five _

Time passes.

Missions pass.

Trevor and Philip dance around each other, coupling and uncoupling and everything in between. 

Traveler 001’s victory looms. 

 

_ exode, five _

MacLaren transfers his consciousness back in time. 

This timeline will end soon. 

This time, everyone but Philp and Trevor died. 

They return to the garage. Trevor doesn’t have words. 

“We’re going to forget,” Trevor finally manages as they walk through the door. “I won’t remember that… that I have feelings for you.”

Philip cocks his head to the side. “I need a concrete moment,” he says. “I think there’s enough… I think what we have done together is enough for me to guess. But I need something I can tell  _ you _ . Something you’ll believe, that will convince you…” 

“That we should be together.” Trevor bows his head, shame rippling through him. He wishes he could rely on feeling and instinct alone, but he doubts even the things he can see. 

Philip sits on the bed, undoing his hair from its knot and kicking his shoes off. His fingers knot and unfurl the crumpled sheets, eyes downcast and lips parted slightly. Months ago, when he was still on drugs, he’d looked on the verge of collapsing in on himself; now, he occupies his space in the world fearlessly. 

Without thinking, Trevor strides across the room and kisses him. Philip makes a surprised noise, but wraps his arms around Trevor’s back and pulls him closer. They fall to the mattress, Trevor’s leg sliding between Philip’s thighs. He kisses him again, this time threading his hands through Philip’s hair. Philip’s hands move between them, unbuttoning Trevor’s shirt then pushing his hands away to take it off completely. He takes off his own shirt, and Trevor’s breath catches in his throat. 

“What?” Philip whispers. 

Trevor runs his fingers over the raised scars on Philip’s chest and stomach, over the needle track marks he usually kept hidden with long sleeves. “These.”

“I know, they’re bad.” 

“No. They show you survived.” 

“You sure you aren’t just doing this because our timeline will be erased?” 

Trevor brushes his fingers against the stubble along Philip’s jaw, to his lips. “I would do this if we had thousands of days after this.” 

Philip closes his eyes, a smile flashing over his face. 

As they move against each other, Trevor will remember this—the rightness of it, Philip’s soft, quiet noises and body under his, Philip’s hands roaming his skin—when the world ends. 

 

_ prologue, six _

Philip’s breath hitches when he sees Trevor for the first time. They’d seen photographs of their respective hosts, but never more than a headshot. Seeing Trevor in actuality affects him in a way he didn’t think possible; he’s tall, with cascading muscles that make more sense than anything else in this world and bright eyes. He’d been close with 0115 in the past—the future?—and felt something growing between them. He hadn’t been able to place it. Until now. 

“Good to see you, Philip.” Trevor smiles at him, slightly crooked, lip still split from the fight that killed the host. 

“Trevor.” Philip’s hands tremble and sweat. It could be the drugs—or lack of. It could be that his teammate is hot. Either option. The protocols never  _ explicitly  _ said anything about hooking up with teammates, but the Director probably frowned upon it. 

“Enjoying the twenty-first so far?” Trevor says. 

Philip flushes.  _ That  _ isn’t because of the drugs. “I like it alright.”

“It’s beautiful here. Have you seen all the trees? The food? The sky?” Trevor’s eyes linger on Philip for a moment too long to be casual. Or maybe not. Is he already hallucinating? “I’ll see you that realize that.”

 

_ parode, six _

Philip is eating dinner with Trevor at ops when the question he’s been turning over in his mind all day becomes too much to carry alone. 

“Do you ever think about the past?” Philip blurts. 

Trevor puts down his fork and sighs. “You mean the future.”

“Alright, setting aside protocols for a minute.” 

“The Director doesn’t set aside protocols.”

Maybe it’s all the death he’s seen, or the fact that nothing seems to be getting better. In fact, things seem to be  _ worse _ , with the Faction stealing innocent hosts. Maybe it’s because he remembers things about Trevor he wants to discuss. He shoves his chair back, legs squealing against the concrete floor, and flips off power to the garage. He turns off his comm. He motions for Trevor to do the same

“Please,” he says. “I feel like I’m drowning here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.” It’s as close to the truth that he can manage—he’s sinking in the twenty-first and he doesn’t know who else to turn to. Marcy already managed his drug problems. Carly’s dealing with Jeff. MacLaren has issues. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s bothering Trevor. 

“Fine. I’ll tell you this.” Trevor folds his arms over his chest, quiet for a moment, before exhaling. “I remember you when we began training as a team. I remember thinking that’d you break as soon as there was a chance because you were too hopeful.”

“You’re hopeful.”

“Yes, but not. I’m realistic. You wanted to save everyone, and I know that is simply not possible. There will be casualties, but we’re doing maximum good with minimum harm. Sadly, minimum harm still means some harm. I thought that would do you in.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to let me finish?” A small, half-smile creeps across Trevor’s face. “But then, there was that night. Do you remember?”

Philip’s mouth goes dry. “Tell me how you remember it.”

“I will. But for the record, I know you remember.” Trevor leans closer to Philip across the table, biting his lower lip. “You came to my room in the middle of the night because you’d heard a rumor that I had a book. George Orwell,  _ 1984 _ . I let you borrow it because you looked so excited, and I expected you to leave right away. You didn’t. I remember talking to you—and you won’t remember this next part, because you don’t know.”

Philip’s face heats, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact.

“I’d felt terrible about the mission. About the team. I didn’t see how I’d be able to work with everyone. But you showed up with so much… hope, I don’t know, and I could see that you were strong in ways I couldn’t even imagine. After more than a hundred years of life and multiple bodies, you showed me something new. And you’ve done nothing but prove me right. You’re intelligent, you’re kind, you’re curious. You’re…” Trevor finally looks away. “Very important to me.”

“That’s true?” Philip’s voice comes out hoarse. “You’re not just saying it because I went crazy and blocked out the Director?”

“Absolutely.” 

Unable to form words, Philip flicks on the electricity. Lights buzz to life, yellow and gold softly glowing in the garage. Trevor turns his comm back on, head turned away. Philip mirrors the actions.

“Everything good over there?” MacLaren says. “Ops went dark for a minute.”

“Power outage, boss,” Trevor says. “Nothing unusual.” 

“Good,” Carly replies. “Because we have a mission. I’ll be there in fifteen?”

“Got it.” Philip’s voice sounds distant to his own ears, along with Trevor’s footsteps and the ladder’s creak. “Wait.”

Trevor pauses. 

“You’re…” Philip trails off.  _ I want you. You’ve saved me.  _ “Thank you.”

Maybe he’s imagining it, but Trevor’s smile is sadness-tinged. “Of course.”

 

_ episodes, six _

Things are different between Philip and Trevor after that night, but Philip can’t worry about it too much. Historical updates begin early for him, when he compares with other historians. 

“Three months in?” one says, a brow arched. Philip doesn’t know how to respond. Maybe it’s just that the future’s going to shit, and there’s more historians need to know. He goes, he watches, he flushes the yellow pills because the thought of putting more drugs in his system makes him woozy. 

Then, he sees other timelines. 

All casual. All normal side effects. 

Normal has become a very relative word. 

It becomes part of his day. Wake up to various team members or random people in his bed some days—seriously, he wants to know why Philip in every other universe seems to be adept at relationships—walk through alternate timelines, brush his teeth, see ten versions of Trevor before he locates the real one staring at him judgmentally. It becomes an adventure of sorts, where he gets glimpses into other realities—until he starts seeing stranger realities. 

Ones where he’s dead and Trevor’s holding him in his arms.

Ones where Trevor’s frozen, like someone paused him and forgot to press play. 

He writes them off as insignificant until one day, he glimpses at the bed. His head spins for a moment before he can focus. 

He’s intertwined with Trevor on the bed, shirts discarded, hands roaming bare skin, moving toward pants. This other Philip laughs and tips his head back as Trevor whispers something, reaches his hand—

“Stop!” he says. This isn’t his to watch. Trevor isn’t  _ his _ .

But he was in some other universe.

“Everything okay?” Trevor calls.

“Yes,” Philip blurts. “Everything’s fine.”

He wonders if Trevor can hear the lie. 

 

#

 

Philip has a disturbing new habit. 

Trevor often finds him staring into nothingness, brows creased and eyes focused like he’s seeing something. There’s never anything there. 

After days of letting it go, Trevor finally lays a hand on his shoulder as Philip sits on the couch, staring at the blank TV. “Talk to me.”

“I have new information,” Philip whispers. “Someone will come for it. Someone will realize I can see other timelines.”

So that’s what’s bee

“Let them try,” Trevor replies. “Nobody’s getting to you.”

An odd look comes to Philip’s face, but he presses his lips together and stands.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Trevor calls.

“I’m going to take a nap.” Philip stands in front of the bed, breathing heavy for a moment, before laying down and turning his back to Trevor. 

 

#

 

Trevor wakes in the middle of the night to a muffled shout and crash. He grabs the gun he keeps beside his bed in the loft and scrambles down the ladder, nearly stepping on broken glass. “Philip?” he calls.

Another muffled cry. 

Shit.

It’s happening. 

Trevor drops to the ground as a bullet strikes where he was standing. His breath catches in his throat as he sees Philip thrashing as a man in a black suit pins his arms behind his back. 

“I need backup at ops,” he says into the comm. “Faction’s trying to take Philip.” 

“Trying?” Marcy says.

“I won’t let them.” They’re the truest four words he’s said in a long time. He will not allow them to take Philip—to torture him, to break him, to leave him empty. He shuts off his comm so he can focus, creeping closer to where the man’s tying Philip to the desk chair. 

“Anyone else here with you?” a woman asks, eyes flicking over the room. Trevor counts four Faction members in total. 

“I live alone.” Philip blinks blearily, like he’d woken minutes ago. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the man in the dark suit asks.

The woman grimaces. “He’s seeing other timelines.”

“A thousand different ways this could end.” Philip blinks again, focusing his gaze on the bed. He tips his head to the side, considering, before his gaze turns to the loft. 

“Hey!” Dark Suit backhands Philip hard enough to tip the chair back. The woman catches it. “Focus on me. We need the information you get from historical updates.”

“You know I won’t do that,” Philip replies.

Their voices drop too low for Trevor to hear, but he pads across the floor, keeping hidden behind walls and furniture. A dull thud rings out—a blunt object connecting with skin—but he pushes the sound from his mind and tries to find a vantage point. This is about saving Philip. 

“Saving random people won’t make the future better.” Philip’s voice sound muffled and pain-slicked. “There has to be a target. A mission.”

The woman cocks a gun. “Do you want to reconsider?”

Trevor raises his arms and head over the couch.

Philip returns her steely gaze. “No.” 

“That’s a shame, Philip.”

As the woman cocks the gun, Trevor fires three shots. Blood splatters on Philip as three people collapse, chests still and eyes open. Dark Suit wrenches Philip from the chair and holds him against his chest, backing toward the door. Trevor comes into the open, taking small steps.

“You lied,” Dark Suit says. “Your boyfriend or something?”

Despite the arm around his neck, gun to his head, and bruising on his face, Philip manages a slight smile. “You took your time.”

“Let him go,” Trevor snarls. “He won’t help you.”

“Everyone eventually does.”

“It’s okay, Trevor.” In a burst of fluid motion, Philip grabs Dark Suit’s elbow, leans to one side, and flips him onto his back. Dark Suit grapples for the gun, but Philip takes it and fires one shot into the man’s head. As blood oozes onto the floor, Philip stares at the bodies, fingers bleached white around the gun and shaking. He blinks fast, scrunching his shoulders and tipping his head to the side.

“You’re hurt,” Trevor says. 

The gun clatters to the floor as Philip sinks to his knees. 

Trevor activates his comm. “We took care of it. Don’t come.”

“Trevor—” MacLaren starts. 

“He’s safe. We can handle this. We just need someone to pick up and dispose of four bodies. Faction.” He kneels next to Philip, touching his shoulder lightly. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Philip breathes. “Nice shots.”

“Why don’t you shower? I’ll take care of this.” 

“You shouldn’t have to—”

“Go clean up. Blood isn’t a good look on anyone.” He offers a smile as Philip goes to the shower, but it falls as the door closes. The garage is silent, except for the quiet rush of the shower. Trevor closes his eyes, trying to forget the gun pressed to Philip’s temple and the three people he killed without thought. With anyone else, he would’ve tried to negotiate, to wound. But this was their home, and the Faction had invaded. 

Now, he had bodies to dispose of. 

He wipes the blood from the floor and drags the bodies outside; by the time he’s back inside, Philip’s sitting on the couch, wearing black sweatpants and no shirt. He’s towelling off his hair and smiles briefly, despite the bruising on his face and cut near his temple. 

“Never a dull moment.” Philip’s hands are steady as he tosses the towel onto the floor and ties his hair into a bun at the nape of his neck. “Everything taken care of?”

Trevor sits next to him, words caught in his throat. He’d come close to losing Philip. Again. Between drugs and kidnappers and historical updates, Philip’s in more danger than any of them. He exhales, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

“You’re shaking,” Philip says. “I’m sorry. I should’ve taken care of that myself. I know you haven’t… you haven’t killed and aren’t trained for that.” 

“Don’t apologize. Please.” He stands and paces, unable to meet Philip’s eyes. “We need better security. They just walked in and could’ve… they could’ve done a lot. And you should sleep in the loft instead of me.”

“Whoa, Trevor.” Philips steps in front of him and puts his hands—still warm from his shower—on Trevor’s chest. “I’m okay. A little roughed-up, but I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Trevor exhales. “Okay.”

“Want popcorn? There’s a movie I’ve been meaning to watch. I think you’d like it.” Philip walked to the kitchen, limping slightly. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Philip had forgotten the man he’d shot, but that wasn’t how he was. He moved on because he had to.

Trevor has to do the same. Philip settles on the couch next to him, popcorn balanced on his legs. A warm feeling rises in Trevor’s chest. Without thinking about it too much, he takes Philip’s hand in his. Philip tenses for a moment, but sighs and leans his head onto Trevor’s shoulder, eventually falling asleep.

Trevor, too, drifts off. 

 

_ stasimon, six _

They’ve been dancing around each other since the near-kidnapping. Tonight, they sit on the couch, thighs pressed together, after a difficult mission. Trevor’s face is bruised. Traveler 001 is closing in on them—for the sixth time, if Philip’s ideas about the timelines are correct. Philip decides enough is enough. 

“I love you,” he blurts blurts. He feels like he’s offering his physical heart to Trevor—who, to his credit, doesn’t look as alarmed as he could. “I want you. And I think we’ve been together in other timelines. I’ve seen…” His eyes flick to the bed. “We did things. Together.”

Trevor’s brow wrinkles. “Like what?”

“God, Trevor, are you going to make me explain?” Philip feels his face flush red. How was he supposed to say that he’d stared at his bed and watched them sleep together? “I saw us…” He waves his hands. “In bed. Together. Doing… stuff.” 

“Oh.” Trevor’s eyes widen. “ _ Oh. _ ” 

“You looked… enthusiastic.” He couldn’t find the words to describe the light in Trevor’s eyes, or how he’d held Philip after they’d finished, like he was the most important person in the world, or his crooked smile. 

Trevor’s expression remains neutral. “And how’d you look?” 

“That’s what you want to know? How I looked when I… we were having sex?”

“I’d like to know.” 

“I looked…” Philip studies his own hands. “I was enjoying it. Yeah, I was enjoying it.”

“Did you watch the entire timeline play out?”

“Yeah.” He manages to meet Trevor’s eyes—his expression is unreadable. “I did.” 

“Would you want to do that again?”

Philip licks his lips and sits on the bed. “Yes. But only if you want to. Because I know you like me, but I can’t tell if you want me like that. And I don’t want to just be someone who’s convenient right now.” 

“No.” Trevor sits next to him, placing a hand on his knee. “I like being around you. You make me feel like I haven’t in… decades. I like your smile. I like watching you work, because you’re good at what you do. I like how you’re compassionate, and that you’re strong and caring, and that you try your best every day. I…” Trevor rubs the back of his neck. “I like you."

Philip shudders, then leans toward him, cupping his hand around Trevor’s jaw. Trevor expects their kiss to be rushed, like they’re fighting time and history itself, but Philip’s lips are slow, gentle. Trevor pushes him down to the bed, bracketing Philip’s hips with his legs; Philip leans up to kiss him again. 

“I want this to last forever,” Philip murmurs. A single tear trickles down his cheek.

Trevor isn’t naive enough to think it can.

“We’ll enjoy what we have,” Trevor says. “And that will have to be enough.”

 

_ exode, six _

From what Philip says, the events that happen are standard: cities are bombed, David and Marcy die within hours of each other, MacLaren transfers his consciousness back into an earlier version of his host.

For Trevor, they feel life-shattering. He’d built something here, after losing and losing and losing, and yet again, he was going to lose. Philip stands next to him, hand pressed lightly to the small of his back. 

“We don’t have much time,” Philips says in a low voice. “If it’s anything like the other realities, we won’t remember this when the Director launches other version.” 

A small, pained sound escapes Trevor’s lips. “I don’t want to forget this.” He presses his hands to his forehead, tears coming to his eyes. “I don’t want to forget you, Philip.”

“We’ll meet again. The Director will send us again.” Philip kisses Trevor breathlessly, desperately. “Any body,” he whispers. “Any place. I will remember this timeline, and I will find you.”

He doesn’t say that it may not be possible. That the world is a strange place, and not even the Director can predict the whims of multiple timelines. He could’ve said that to Trevor a thousand times, and then forgotten what they had a thousand times. 

Trevor appreciates the lie. 

“I will find you,” Philip says anyways.. “No matter what.”

He repeats it until nothingness takes them. 

 

**_Who really knows if our spirits go up and the spirits of animals go down into the earth?”_ **

 

_ parode, seven    _

“It makes sense for us to be friends. Right?” Philip asks. 

“Of course.” Trevor means it when he says it, but in the back of his mind, something pricks at his words. Like what Philip said was correct, but not entirely complete. 

He expects the sensation to fade. 

Throughout the missions, it strengthens. 

 

_ exode, seven   _

“We should’ve had more time,” Philip says, as corpses lay around them and MacLaren prepares to end this timeline.

For—by what Philip says—the seventh time. Trevor wants to tell the Director to stop trying, but a part of him believes they can get it right. That the world can get it right, that he and Philip can get it right, that the Director can fix this. 

“We will,” Trevor replies. “In another life.”

 

_ parode, eight _

“I don’t think this will end well,” Philip says. “There are so many problems already.”

“We’ll try,” Trevor replies. They’re in bed together, Trevor’s arms wrapped around him. Philip has seen something similar to this in images of other timelines, except most times, he’s dying. “That’s all we can do.”

 

_ exode, eight _

“We can’t win. Ever.” Philip gasps. Other timelines, images and people that aren’t real, drown him. He can’t fucking breathe. “Every timeline I see, we fail.”

“We can find the one where we win,” Trevor says. Always hopeful. Always trying. 

“No.” Philip feels his grasp on the world fading. Soon, he’ll be lost, and not even Trevor can bring him back. “It doesn’t exist. We never win.”

 

_ prologue, nine _

Philip arrives in the twenty-first and is immediately struck with the sense that he’s done this before. He has, of course, in simulations of his arrival. But the actual sense of arriving—the unique, completely subjective feeling of his consciousness being transplanted into a second body—feels ridiculously familiar. Like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

He pushes the feeling away until he meets with the rest of the team to find MacLaren. When he sees Trevor, an intense pain swells in his chest, like someone cut out a piece of his heart. 

“Philip,” Trevor says with a brief nod. 

“Trevor.” The syllables sit naturally with him. He reaches out to shake Trevor’s hand, and as soon as their hands meet, another wave of familiarity washes over him. He’s touched these hands. He’s known this skin. He doesn’t know how, but he  _ knows,  _ in the same way he knows historical facts or that he’s a Traveler. It’s instinctual, basic knowledge, but he doesn’t know  _ how  _ he knows. 

Trevor’s eyes—those are familiar, too—roam his face. “You look…”

“Like shit, I know,” Philip finishes.

“I was going to say familiar.”

“So you’re getting that, too?” 

“Yeah.” Philip cocks his head to the side. “Another mystery.”

 

_ parode, nine _

“You’re going to need to watch him,” Marcy mutters to Trevor after MacLaren rescues them. “Whoever took us set his recovery back by weeks.”

Trevors rubs his bruised wrists. He’s hurting, yes, but Philip’s eyes are glazed and his hair bloodied. He’s worse off, and drugged. “I’ll take care of it,” Trevor says. “There’s a reason I’m living with him.”

Marcy scoffs. “There’s a reason, Trevor, but I don’t think you taking care of him after kidnappings is it.”

“He’s recovering,” Trevor says. 

“I don’t think it has much to do with his recovery, either. Or you not liking your parents.” Marcy raises an eyebrow. “I see the way you look at him.”

“I don’t…” Trevor shakes his head. “I care for him.” 

He thinks about the conversation as he goes into the garage, Philip trailing behind him. He cares for all his teammates, but Trevor is different. When he’s with him, it feels like wearing a comfortable pair of shoes or coming home after a stressful day—or like he’s lived this life before. 

Philip lays on the couch, curled into a ball; Trevor goes into the kitchen and makes tea. When he brings Philip the steaming mug, he’s staring at nothing, eyes unfocused. 

“Hi.” Trevor crouches down next to him and smiles as Philip blinks. “How are you?”

“You were kidnapped, too, you know,” Philip murmurs. “You’re supposed to be tired.” 

“I wasn’t drugged and beaten.” Trevor sits on the couch by Philip’s feet, laying a hand on his ankle. “You never answered. How are you?”

“Alive. Exhausted.” Philip props himself up on his elbows. “This doesn’t feel like someone who got bored and kidnapped some people. Someone’s playing the long game.”

“And what do you think about that?”

“Two things.” Philip grimaces. “I don’t know if we can win. And I feel like we’ve done this before, but I’m missing something.”

“Like what?”

“A someone.” Philip licks his lips, eyes flicking to the side. “Like I loved someone, but I can’t remember who.”

Trevor twists his shirt, unable to meet Philip’s eyes. Of course he had someone. He was wonderful and deserved a person who loved him. “It’ll come to you. If you’re meant to find them, you will.”

He goes to the loft without waiting for Philip to reply. 

 

_ episodes, nine _

During a mission, Trevor gets stabbed. It isn’t serious, as far as getting stabbed goes—or so Marcy told him—but he is stretched out on Philip’s bed, pain contorted with pain. He smiles when Philip approaches, though, his eyes crinkling. 

“Need anything?” Philip asks. 

“Want to sit with me for awhile?” Trevor scoots his legs to the side. “You’ve been looking healthy lately. I’m glad this is me rather than you.”

“It  _ should’ve  _ been me.” He closes his eyes. Of course he can remember it perfectly. The man lunged toward Philip, and Trevor had thrown himself between him and the knife without hesitation. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“None of that. We all make decisions.” 

“Trevor, that isn’t a good decision. You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t. Maybe in another universe, but not here. We’re both here in this one.”

“You believe in other universes?”

“I believe in possibilities, Philip. Who knows what could be happening to us in another world?”

Philip runs his hands over the sheet. “I suppose there isn’t a way to know.”

 

#

 

It begins after the historical updates. 

Philip sees other timelines. 

A part of him feels like he should be afraid.

“Show me,” he begs instead, when the garage is empty and Trevor is asleep and outside, there’s only darkness. “Show me what I’ve forgotten.” 

The ensuing flood nearly sends him to his knees. 

He sees blood. Corpses. Fire and ruin. Bombs going off, David dead, Marcy dead, Grace with swollen bruises. He sees Trevor frozen, himself dead on the ground, Carly being taken to jail, the streets burning, Traveler 001 winning over and over again. He sees it in detail, the world crumbling before in his eyes in vivid color. This is what they have lived before. This is what  _ he  _ has experienced before—for he has lived, he has died, and he has lived again. Over and over. 

“Show me more,” he tells his mind. “Show me  _ here _ .”

In dozens of different visions, he’s with Trevor. They sit on the couch, a bowl of popcorn nestled between them. Trevor, wearing only boxers and a t-shirt, kneels next to an unconscious Philip. Trevor stands in front of a wall covered with scribbled letters while Philip lays on the table. Trevor dashes down from the loft and boops Philip on the nose. They meditate together. They kiss, Philip pressing Trevor against the wall. Trevor hugs Philip. And on the bed… Philip swallows hard.

They’re naked and curled together, sheets crumpled on the edge of the mattress. Trevor runs his hand through Philip’s hair, whispering something that makes him smile. Philip trails his fingers down Trevor’s chest in response. Philip stumbles toward the bed, intense wanting blooming in his chest. 

He could have this.

“Philip?” Trevor puts a hand on his shoulder, and all the other realities ebb away, like waves being tugged back into the seat. 

“Us,” Philip says. “We’re missing us. We’re supposed to be together.”

“Together? As in…”

Philip presses his lips to Trevor. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake, but Trevor moans and deepens the kiss. He walks them back to the bed, and they fall on the mattress. How did he not realize this before? This was what he needed to discover. Philip rolls them over and straddles Trevor, holding his wrists over his head as he kisses him. Trevor swears under his breath and slips his hands under Philip’s shirt. 

“I’m seeing other timelines,” Philip whispers.

Trevor laughs, low and musical. “I love it when you talk like that.”

“But I can see where we went wrong before. I can save us.”

“Do you really think you can?”

Philip smiles. “Yes. I know I can.”

 

_ stasimon, nine _

Trevor watches as Philip explains what he knows to the team as they all sit in ops. He explains, step by painstaking step, how Traveler 001 dismantles the Travelers program. How long did it take for Philip to piece everything together? How many ventures into other realities? Philip doesn’t appear distressed, though—in fact, he’s glowing, his hair tied back, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright. 

“You think we can win?” MacLaren asks. “If we correct all the mistakes we made?”

“I don’t want to promise anything.” Philip’s eyes find Trevor. He nods. “But I know I have the incentive to try. We have to try.”

 

_ exode, nine _

They win. 

They destroy Traveler 001’s consciousness. 

Philip says a prayer for all the other versions of himself, for all the timelines where millions died, before studying the people before him. They’re back at ops, a few bottles of wine open. David and Marcy sit on the couch, heads bowed together. Grace, MacLaren, and Carly stand in a corner, laughing occasionally as they top off each other’s glasses. 

“Hey.”

Philips turns to see Trevor, wearing dark jeans and a varsity jacket. He opens his mouth to say something, but Trevor cuts him off with a kiss, pulling them together. 

“We did it,” Trevor says. “ _ You  _ did it.”

“We get it!” Grace calls. “You two are a couple!”

Philip bows his head and smiles, feeling at peace for the first time. 

“You know, this isn’t the end of the missions,” Trevor says in a low voice. “We still have a future to save. And we don’t know what that holds.”

“We do,” Philip agrees. “But we’ll be together.”

Somehow, he felt like they were finally where they needed to be. 

 

**_“We can never know the future.”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please talk to me about Travelers! I love this show and have a lot of feelings about it (as you can probably tell)! My tumblr is @such-geekiness :)


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